They Take the Vacation Out of Christmas Vacation

Day one of Christmas vacation, and I'm reminded of why I work. 

E:  Mom, G hit me!

G:  He hit me first!

E:  Whaaaa!  She pinched me, and I did nothing.

G:  Whaaaa!  I hurt my toe!  Hold me, hold me, hold me!

Me:  G, get out from under my bed! (Santa has presents hidden there.)
G:  I'm not under your bed! (a bold-face lie because I can see her rear-end sticking out)

Me:  Get out before I spank you.  (an obvious choice for punishment since her little booty is a staring me in the face)

G:  Whaaaaa!!!  Well, I'm calling my daddy.

E:  Can we go to Walmart to buy me a toy?

Me:  No, Santa is coming this weekend.

E:  Whaaaaaaa!  I'm calling my daddy.  I think he will say "yes."

E:  Mom, G won't get out from in front of the T.V.!

G:  I'm having school for Lonnie and Lathan.  (That's her white girl baby doll and her black boy baby doll, respectively.)

E:  Whaaaa!  She pinched me, knocked over the Christmas tree, and kicked the dog (the latter two are complete fabrications for dramatic effect).  I did nothing to her!  Whaaaa, whaaa, whaaaa!

G:  Whaaaa! Bubba (the poor dog) just ate my cinnamon roll!

Me:  Both of you go to your rooms and take a little time out!

G:  Mom, daddy wants to talk to you.  (That smart little heifer has figured out how to dial his number.)

at least they're pretty cute...

This was all before 8:00 a.m.  Apparently, daddy is the more permissive better parent.  Tomorrow, I may just drop them off at the post office and sleep in my van for a few hours. 

Which leads me to another issue...sleep.  Or should I say, lack of sleep.  I had those kids sleeping 12 hours a night every night at six months old!  Now that they can walk and talk, they up every single night.  My son is first.  At around midnight, he crawls into my bed.  Practically on top of me.  We have a queen-size bed, but we only use about 2 square feet of it.  Daddy knows the drill, and just sleep walks up to E's room.

Then at around 5 a.m.-ish, in comes G.  To lay in my lap.  I have E up my butt crack and G up my...  Well, you know.  Needless to say, I'm up.  It's Christmas vacation, and I have to get up at 5:30 a.m.  Oh, G goes right back to sleep.  No problem there.  And I could easily go back to sleep as well.  E, however, is a light sleeper who is stirred by his sister.  He tries to stay asleep but only ends up tossing and turning.  Into my back.  Keeping me from a restful slumber.

I told Mr. OCD this afternoon that he better have a big chunk of money in the bank because this week is going to cost him.  Since the only time they aren't fighting is when we are "out," I've got an outing planned for every day of our vacation.  Today, I took them to the movies.  Tomorrow, Paint a Piece.  Wednesday, the Children's Museum.  Thursday, Story Time at the library.  Friday, ice skating at the zoo.  Daddy time, Saturday and Sunday. 

Rinse, lather, repeat!  I'm ready to go back to work so I can get some rest!

Sparing Spouses

My head is on the verge of spontaneous combustion.  Well, not so spontaneous since I can feel my blood rushing to the top causing the aforementioned explosion.  Nonetheless, I'm 'bout to go off on somebody!

I got up at 5:00 a.m. this morning just so I could go to the gym before Satan had to report to work.  I put up with Rounds 1, 2, and 3 of the incessant fighting between my kids, washed the bedding after my son got pissed and literally pissed everywhere, did two time outs in two separate locations at the same time, got the kids dressed so I could strap them in their car seats away from one another we could go to the library, then headed off to the Children's Museum for some air-conditioned entertainment. 

I finally rolled into the drive at around 5:00 p.m.  What do you think were the first words out of Satan's mouth???  Yep, you guessed it...

"What's for supper?!?!"

Of course, this question came as I entered the door with two screaming kids and an arm full of crap acquired during the day.  As if that wasn't enough, Satan's spawn, Curly Q, was in the midst of a meltdown because she wanted to run down the road after the neighbors on bikes.  Being the pushover he is, Satan was promising diamonds, pearls, and a Hawaii vacation to Curly Q if she'd just stop screaming. 

"Where exactly were the neighbors when you saw them riding on the road?"

As if I'd felt like giving him GPS coordinates for those little hellions.  I went off!  And he had the nerve to retaliate with his typical, yet deadly, fighting words, "If you don't like it, you can just leave."

WTF?  Seriously?!?!  How's a girl supposed to respond to that one???  He knows it totally pisses me off because I have nothing!  Sure, I could come back with, fine, I'll leave! but how dumb is that shit?  I'm a lot of things, but dumb is not one of them.

I want to say, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU!  Maybe if I weren't playing the Silent Treatment right now, I would do exactly that. 

Oh, he is soooo sleeping on the couch tonight!

The Y Just Ain't My Scene

I am such a freakin' brat!  I've grown up quite a bit over the years, but I can feel Hollywood Bitch trying to express herself these days.  I call my bratty side Hollywood Bitch because that was my nickname growing up.  Well, my cousins called me "Hollywood," but I know what they meant.  Omarosa ain't got shit on LB!  I put the D, the I, the V, and the A in DIVA.

Anysnottybitch, I have been nagging my husband to death for a pool.  I want my own damn pool in my own backyard!  Our kids are getting older and fight too much love to swim.  We need some recreation around this junk!  What better way to survive the sweltering summers of West Tennessee, right? 

Think of Hell with a bonfire going at all times.  That's a Midsouth summer. One hundred gazillion degrees.  In the shade.  All day long, I'm sweating like a whore in church.  Ain't no way on God's green earth are you getting me outdoors from June 1st to September 1st.  That is, unless there is some nice, refreshing, cool water close by.  I. WANT. A. POOL. AND. I. WANT. IT. NOW! *insert clinched fists and foot stomping here*

Mr. OCD-I-pay-the-bills-and-we-are-broke says, "no."  He's such a party pooper!  I wasn't happy, but figured I'd compromise.  Here's the deal...If I'll wait another year, I just may see a sparkling oasis in my very own backyard.  I have to wait, though, something I've never been very good at.

Fine, then.  I'll just join the Y!  The kids and I can go to the pool every day!  Besides, they have babysitters...um, I mean...lifeguards!

I was almost giddy just thinking about it.  I could workout while they stayed in the childcare room.  Then we could hit the pool!  It actually sounded better than I'd expected.  Until this morning.

First, it took me like an hour to get our shit gear together!  I packed swimsuits.  Check.  I packed sunscreen.  Check.  Floats, goggles, towels.  Check, check, check.  Since it's a bit of a drive, I packed lunches and snacks and water.  By the time I was finished with that, I was exhausted.  Not to mention, the kids fought the entire time.

Finally, we got to the Y.  I checked the kids into the nursery then hit the gym.  Disappointment.  At my other gym, there are little TVs on all the cardio equipment.  This equipment was in a large room with several TVs turned to various channels with subtitles.  I was bummed, but found a bright spot in the magazine selection.  It was nice to read a chick magazine, something I only do when getting a pedicure or waiting in line at the grocery store.  Before I knew it, I'd done 30 minutes on the elliptical and learned about a few "super foods" at the same time.

I thought, okay, this is not my ideal gym setting but I'll manage.

Afterwards, the kids and I hit the pool area.  With lifeguards (yippee!!!). 

I know why they need lifeguards now, though.  There were forty thousand kids in the damn pool!  Seriously, they were all over the place.  Not a single cubic inch of the pool was vacant.  Made me a freakin' wreck!

Not this bad, but you get the idea...

In addition to all the screeching kids, there was a "Mommies Club" to contend with.  Great, I thought.  I hate playing nice in an effort to fit in. 

All the mommies sat poolside with their chairs lined up together.  They all wore similar black tankinis and had similar looking children with nice little tans.  The moms wore big floppy hats and nibbled on Triscuits.  The kids grazed on apple slices and drank from little juice boxes.  I was in Stepford Hell.  I was in no mood to "play" so I found a nice chair in a corner away from them.

Of course, Stepford Hell was a far better place than the Redneck Riviera on the other side of the deck area.  The moms on that side of the pool weighed in the rotund range.  As the swimsuits they sported weren't bad enough, a few were tatted up with the most heinous of all tattoo art.  One woman actually had what looked like a portrait of the Insane Clown Posse on her left leg.  I saw barcodes on the neck, homemade monograms on the shoulders, crosses and religious memoriams on the back.  It made me long for the Mommies Club Rush parties.

Who'd put this on their leg?!?! Her kids are probably serial killers in training!

No commentary needed here...

The Y just ain't my scene.  I may have to pull out my sex trick arsenal.  Daily blow jobs for the rest of the year???  I dunno, but Mama really, really, REALLY needs a swimming pool!